The Mad Man and Molly
by LeonaWriter
Summary: The first time Molly saw the mad man, he was dressed in tweed, with funny hair and a bowtie.  She really did think that he was just one of the doctors at the hospital, or a visiting professor. The next time she met him, he looked completely different.
1. Chapter 1

The Mad Man and Molly

The first time Molly saw the mad man, he was dressed in tweed, with funny hair and a bowtie. She really did think that he was just one of the doctors at the hospital, or a visiting professor. Up until, that is, he came up to her gravely, and spoke.

"He really does need you, Molly. Just remember that."

Molly had stared at him, and that was when she had started to call him the Mad Man in her head.

"What do you mean? Who? Who needs me?"

The man gave her a strange look, and then another, stranger one, at their surroundings. He started to mutter incomprehensible things, which didn't make any sense to her.

"Wrong Molly? No... wrong- AH. Sorry. Wrong time. Dreadfully sorry, mix-up." He started to back away with an odd smile on his face, as though he had said something wrong and was trying to pretend that he hadn't. He gave her a small wave as he left. "Be seeing you, Molly Hooper!"

She couldn't help but wonder why he sounded so cheerful at the end there, when he'd sounded so sober to begin with. Maybe it was something to do with being mad, she supposed.

That was the day, however, the first day, when she met Sherlock Holmes.

...

AN: I don't think there are any spoilers _so far._ Although the Doctor has come from a spoilery bit, he isn't letting that much on…


	2. Chapter 2

The Mad Man and Molly

The second time she met him, he looked different. In fact, he didn't look like the Mad Man at all, and at first she didn't think they were the same person.

This one found her while she was on her way home from a stressful day at work, and, like many stressful days at work, Sherlock had been there, working on a case – or something. He hadn't said exactly what. But now she was away from all that and going home, hopefully to a nice hot cup of tea and something all right on the telly.

The mad man surprised her by coming out from nowhere and suddenly pushing her to one side – and she wasn't even on the road! She was still on the pavement! – so needless to say she wasn't all that impressed with this strange man in a pinstriped suit and converse with hair that stuck up every which way.

And then she saw that something rather large and very deadly had just passed through the spot where she had been standing only moments ago. She'd have been killed if it weren't for this stranger.

She looked at him, trying to figure him out, but he was already getting up and looking around. Shakily, she did the same, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. His eyes wide and his hands clutching at his hair and making it even more untidy than it already was, he swore – or at least, that's what it sounded like. She didn't recognise any of the words.

"Ex-excuse me? What _was _that?"

"What? What was what? Oh, that? Oh... nothing you need to worry about – I hope. Probably just the wrong place at the wrong time." His demeanour changed suddenly, and that was when she was reminded of the mad man in tweed. "Sorry, I'm the Doctor! And you are?"

"Molly," Molly supplied hesitantly, not even sure if 'Doctor' was a name or counted as one, or if she should be telling the man her own. "Molly Hooper."

"Right! Pleased to meet you, Molly Hooper!"

He tipped her a two fingered salute, and headed off over to a nearby alleyway. She tried to follow him, spurred on by curiosity and something else that she couldn't name just yet, but the moment she reached the alley, all that she could see was empty space, and bits of rubbish blowing about in the wind, which was weird. There wasn't that much of a breeze today.

She continued on her way home, and once there made herself a hot cup of tea, and settled down in front of the telly. But she couldn't quite get that wheezing noise from earlier out of her head.

...

Lemme just say something now? _I did not expect my first Sherlock fic to be a DW crossover. OR have Molly as the main character. I do not regret anything. :D_


	3. Chapter 3

The Mad Man and Molly

"RUN!"

Molly didn't even see who the hand belonged to as he dragged her away from the morgue. She barely had time to get her balance back and keep up.

"W-wait, I-!"

"Sorry, no time! In here!"

This time at least, she could recognise the voice. It was the second strange man – the one who'd saved her life. She stumbled as she was pulled into the nearest room, the man in the pinstripe suit and converse following after, breathing heavily and yet grinning at the same time.

He turned to face her, and as he did she noticed something pass by the door, a great dark shadow that was taller than should really be possible. Trying not to panic, she breathed in deeply. Just her luck – she knew she should have gone home hours ago. But she hadn't. Sherlock had wanted her to do those extra tests for him, and, well...

...Here she was again. Looking at someone who, for some mad reason, thought that danger was something to _smile_ at.

"I left my samples back there," she said, feeling silly at the same time that this was all she could think of to say. But it was true and it was important – those had been what she'd been working on for Sherlock, and-

"You can get more samples. You work with _dead people_. There's not going to be another one of you, so you take care of yourself, hm?"

There was an odd look in his eyes, and it was only then that she realised, just as he was moving to open the door.

"You're older. But – it's only been a few months..."

"Oh... you know how it goes," he said, making a face as he did so, hand touching the doorknob. "Friends come, friends go... happens to everyone. Now," he said, expression changing rapidly, just as it had the last time they had met, "you're going to stay in here. Safe. I don't want you getting into trouble with that thing. Unless it comes in here – then you're free to run like hell and hope it doesn't catch up. Okay? Good!"

And with that, he was gone. She waited for a good hour, back against the door and knees up to her chin, trying to be as small and out of sight as possible, until she finally decided that whatever had happened was probably over, and the strange mad man hadn't told her.

Hesitantly, she made her way back to the lab she'd left the samples and notes she'd taken for Sherlock, and let out a sigh of relief upon seeing that they were all still there and intact.

...

AN: Same Doctor as last time, and he does recognise her this time!


	4. Chapter 4

The Mad Man and Molly

...

The next time she saw him, she didn't hesitate to walk up and ask him what he was doing near the hospital – _again_. After all, the last couple of times had ended with her life being in danger, some way or other.

He stopped, staring at the nervous woman who was trying not to show it, and _looked_ at her. And that look again reminded Molly of Sherlock, and wondered what kind of world it was to have two people in it who could give her that look and have it affect her in such vastly different ways.

"...Looking," the man said at last. "People seem to be interested in this place. I can't quite figure out why. I mean, yeah. Important people, but still. Why here? Why not somewhere else, where things actually _happen_? Why a hospital?"

Molly couldn't think of an answer for him, and wasn't sure she even knew what the question was in the first place. The man then started to pace back and forth in front of St. Bart's, seeming to use her as a sounding board similar to how Sherlock used John. It gave her a warm feeling, but one which was tempered by the wistful wish that it was _Sherlock_ pacing there, not some strange man who she neither knew nor really trusted.

"No one's really been up to anything other than mischief so far – but why? If this place is important, then why just show up here, without any reason? Unless that's the reason, and- no. Or maybe there's something about the place that's just plain attractive. Could be something the sensors didn't pick up, but there's really not that much they _wouldn't_, and I've been around most the rest of the time to... Think. What's really been happening...?"

At this, though, he stopped in front of her, seemingly caught out in the middle of his train of thought – she stared back, startled, having been doing nothing other than watch him and listen to his babble since he'd started.

"Molly Hooper. You're very good at being in the wrong place at the right time, aren't you? Just enough to be very, _very_ good at getting in the way..."

Something about that – the words, the way he said them, that look on his face that said, quite clearly, that she wasn't what they'd been after, why would she be, she wasn't important enough.

It was one thing from Sherlock – but quite another from someone who hadn't even told her his name. Was it that easy to see? Just by _looking_ at her?

Her face must have started to go red, and he noticed, instantly backing away – what was he expecting, a slap or something? Molly Hooper wasn't the kind of person who gave out slaps like that, and right now she didn't feel up to it, even though she felt rather deeply that the man desperately needed one.

"Wait wait wait-! No – I didn't mean it like that. I'm good at getting in the way. Always have been, always will be. It's not a bad thing. It's a good thing. Really."

She didn't believe him. She might not be able to see clearly when Sherlock flirted with her to get access to the latest piece of equipment or the most recent unclaimed body, but with someone who wasn't Sherlock, she could see slightly clearer.

"Why? I mean, why is it a good thing. And why me? I work here. Could have been anyone."

At first he just looked at her again, but then he smiled abruptly, and suddenly she was struck by how _un-_Sherlock he was, because Sherlock had never smiled so widely and so openly and so honestly.

"Oh, Molly Hooper. So... _ordinary_. Never, ever let anyone tell you that there's anything more important than an ordinary person."

She'd been right when she'd first called him mad. He really was. She stared, then blinked, and caught the time on her watch by accident, only just realising that if she didn't get a move on fast, she was going to be late for her shift.

...

AN: There's a hint here as to where - or rather, when - the Doctor's from in his own timeline. And another that is both foreshadowing and a call-back, of sorts.


	5. Chapter 5

The Mad Man and Molly

...

She never saw him again. Strange, though later she'd think that maybe, out of the corner of her eye, he'd appeared once or twice and then gone, or that she'd caught the groaning of some strange machine before realising it was something depressingly ordinary.

She never forgot, though. He'd called her important, in his own way, and that made her smile, that some mad man who had to be very clever, and very old, had called her important.

Months went by. Day after day, case after case where Sherlock would stride into the morgue without a care and ask for one thing or another, and she'd give it to him.

Then Christmas had come, and she'd started out by blushing at the fact that she'd even been _invited_ to Sherlock's, and she'd spent hours, days, even, trying to figure out what would be the kind of thing she could wear that would best get his attention. Even for just a moment…

It was snowing, outside, just like it had for the past few years, except unlike those times there wasn't some weird scare on TV. No 'alien' sightings. Molly was glad of it. Maybe, just maybe, this would be something special.

It hadn't been on purpose, that she'd started to think like this. She'd just remembered that man in the bowtie, and the way he'd told her that 'someone' needed her. He hadn't said who, and he hadn't even said his own name, or why that person needed _her_. Just that they did…

…And then, she'd met Sherlock.

She had attached the idea to the handsome, cold, aloof man as though it were only natural, acting out her own personal fantasy in her everyday life. Like maybe, if she waited long enough, he would become that person who needed her, and he'd see _Molly Hooper, woman_ rather than _Molly Hooper, access to the morgue and body parts_.

She hadn't meant to fall in love. That had been an accident, completely and utterly out of her own control. She wouldn't take it back, though, not for anything, but it did make life hard.

And now Christmas had come and gone and he'd said such mean things, and she'd tried her best but he still hadn't _seen _her. He'd noticed her, and seen through to her motives, her reasoning, everything - but not in the right way. He'd apologised, and that had been something, but it was cold.

Sometimes, she wished that she could see what John saw. She knew he was human, it'd be impossible to mistake him for anything less when she'd been around him so long, but sometimes… just sometimes…

After everything that had happened, after everything that had gone wrong that night, she made her way home, hoping that she could just spend the rest of the night safe and warm, with a hot chocolate and something silly on the TV, and pretend not to care. Or maybe she'd cry, without anyone looking, and the next day she'd pretend she was all right.

What she hadn't expected was to see a man walking towards her on the snowy road, wearing a long coat, bandy-legged and, she could say as they walked closer, wearing a bowtie.

It was him. The mad man, the one she'd met before all of the others. Even before Sherlock, and yes, she did put him in with the others, he was _definitely_ mad. Maybe not in the same way, but… mad all the same.

He saw her, and his face lit up, coming toward her with a smile on his face, as though he didn't remember the last time they'd met, or understand what he'd done to her.

"Ah! Molly Hooper! Been a while since I've seen you around! Though, have to say, haven't been back to the hospital so much. Haven't had time, what with… well… everything."

Back? He spoke as though he'd been there far more than just the once. Or had that just been the only time she'd met him there, and he'd gone more times than that?

Either way, Molly put on a smile, and tried to pretend she hadn't been on the verge of tears moments before.

"Erm, yeah. I- a lot's happened, I guess," she says, pushing her bag further up her arm. "What… er, I don't think I caught your name last time…?"

He looked confused. Had she said something wrong? What could she have said wrong?

"I was sure I'd- Oh. Oh… yeah, right. Sorry. Didn't explain that bit to you, did I? I'm the Doctor. Hello!"

He waved a hand at her, wiggling the fingers around in the cold air, and she frowned.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say that you're _the Doctor_? It's just, there's only been one other person who's ever told me to call them that. And, sorry, but, you don't look a bit like him."

"Well, no, I wouldn't. I've changed since then. I do that. Well, not often. I try not to too often. But, yes! Me again. Remember how we first met? I had to push you out of the way of that Agoraxian battleaxe!"

"I- but- that was _you_?" He grinned at her. "You… I mean, you don't remember coming into the hospital before that?"

"No… no, should I? No - no, wait, don't tell me. It's possible you saw an earlier version of me, and if you told me, the world might implode. Or explode. One of the two, anyway."

"Just because I…?"

"Well. You're important. I couldn't see it before, but- yeah. Look at you!"

"But I'm… I'm not… important. Well, Sherlock doesn't seem to think so, anyway…"

"Pfah! Well, Sherlock's an idiot! A really clever idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. You, Molly Hooper, are _important_. And don't let anyone telly you otherwise. Got that?"

She nodded, and he grinned, and she started to, hesitantly, smile back in return.

…

AN: WHOO! Much longer than the last chapters, I think!


	6. Chapter 6

The Mad Man and Molly

...

He rushed off after that. Said he had places to go, and people to see, and that the old girl had landed him several streets away from where he'd intended. But maybe, she thought, that was good. She didn't entirely understand what he'd said, but if he hadn't had to walk a bit further, he wouldn't have bumped into her like that.

Seeing him again had opened old wounds she wasn't sure if she wanted opened again, but it was good in just as many ways as it was bad. The confusion in her mind over the entire thing - temporal paradoxes, his somehow being able to be the same person she'd been running into for so long, the very idea that he thought she was that important - eclipsed her confusion over why and how Sherlock could have been able to recognise that woman, whoever she really was, from... not her face.

In the end she decided that she didn't really like being forced to choose from one confusion or the other, and instead went with turning on the telly, just for some noise and the sound of voices that weren't hers in the flat not long after she'd got in, taken off her shoes and changed into something slouch-worthy. There couldn't be any more reason why they'd need her tonight.

Although she knew, damn it, but there was a voice telling her that if she did get a call, she'd be back into something she could go out in, out into the snow and the cold and the icy pavements that turned to slush that iced over dangerously, just because it was Sherlock. She hated that voice, because she knew it was right. And right now she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa, like she was doing, and watch crap Christmas telly.

On a whim, she flicked the channel onto the news. She couldn't help but give a crooked smile at that - the reporter was saying how, miraculously, there was no end-of-the-world scenario this year, that maybe they'd been spared or forgotten about. Molly knew better. The end of the world was simply not as obvious this year as it had been the past few.

Nevertheless, after Christmas she went back to work the same as always. She still didn't know why that man, the one in the bowtie, had thought that she was important. She did not still, however, think about it all of the time. She had work to do after all, and Sherlock to look after - what else do you call it, when she still had to provide him with everything he needed here, and deal with his mood swings when he let on sometimes that he wasn't as okay as he said he was - and Toby to feed.

Life went on.

And then suddenly, without warning, Sherlock started acting like normal again. Whatever 'normal' was for him, anyway. She supposed that she should be glad, but largely she was just curious. She'd already figured that he'd been upset about that woman, but this? What could have made him change again? Could it have been her? But... how?

The question had bothered her for a grand total of two days, at which point she'd solidly decided to Not Think About It for at least a good while, as maybe, just maybe - since the woman had to have been dead, Molly had checked herself, and she was good at her job, if nothing else - it was another one of those mad things, like that Doctor and his old girl and his time paradoxes.

Maybe it would be better to leave that one alone.

...

AN: Hokay. So I was looking back through some of my gallery on DA, and I saw that my art for this story (which I now am using as my profile pic) had been really popular (at least compared to some of my other stuff. I'm NOT a popular artist.) And it made me proud. Because usually the stuff I do that gets a lot of hits is the stuff I'd done where I'd coloured other peoples' work. And I have always felt that the attention I got for that was for something someone else had done. Not mine to accept. And here was MY work, for this story, getting so much attention.

So I looked back at where I'd left off, and realised that I'd left it hanging, technically, in the middle of the scene. I'm not sure what to call this, but I don't think it fully constitutes as either a real 'encounter' or as 'filler. Your call, I guess...


End file.
